


there is no order without chaos

by nd_mindoir



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: And little Sameen is adorable, F/F, Insights into Shaw's life throughout the years, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Root is always flirting, Shaw is always annoyed, Starting in 1991
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25669834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nd_mindoir/pseuds/nd_mindoir
Summary: Shaw and Root drift around each other for years before the Machine finally brings them together.
Relationships: Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw
Comments: 5
Kudos: 79





	there is no order without chaos

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve only written 1795 words about little Sameen. But if anything happened to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.
> 
> That being said, I might write more about her. I adore little Sameen.

Throughout one’s life are attractors, hundreds of them. They can be desires, fears, or something else entirely. They can be people. And sometimes, two people are each other’s attractors. Some push away, others pull closer. They complement or fight each other. Some are only seen once in a life, others repeatedly and still others missed completely. They decide the course a life will take. They are fate. They are order creating chaos. And without chaos, there cannot be order.

**1991**

Bishop, Texas is a quiet little town. It has barely three-thousand residents, which means everyone knows each other. The elementary, junior and senior high school share their premises. Three churches are within as many blocks and five more on the outskirts. And then there’s a library, a raunchy sports bar, and a police station with a bored force because nothing ever happens within its jurisdiction.

There’s also two NAS military bases a couple of miles out. One in Corpus Christi, the other in Kingsville. They train soldiers: Sailors, pilots, and marines alike.

Which is why Sameen is here. And she hates it.

She says as much one week after they moved to the quaint house just within the town’s border.

“You hate it everywhere, bug,” dad jokes and ruffles her hair.

She tries to glower at him, but sadly her eight-year-old face isn’t quite capable of producing a scowl without looking cute and dad only laughs. She hates it when he laughs at her, but even more when he doesn’t take her seriously. Adults never do.

“Come on, it’s only for a couple of months. Then we go back home,” he promises.

He always does.

To be fair, he usually stays true to it as well. They move around a lot with dad always stationed at a new base, going through another training course.

They could stay at home, she and maman, but they decide against it every time. Maman misses him otherwise, she knows. Sameen would too even though it’s different for her. She can’t explain it but sees it every time when dad goes some place they cannot follow. Maman is always quieter and more agitated at the same time. Her mind seems to drift away often. Sameen still feels and acts the same as usual, but she dislikes not being able to watch football with him or hear his dumb jokes at dinner.

“Okay,” she finally mutters.

It’s a week later that their school has a sports festival. Sameen didn’t want to attend, prepared to throw an anger tantrum. Before she could start maman said she had to, dad agreed, and that was it. She isn’t part of any clubs or has any friends after two weeks of living here (Not that she’s confident she’ll make some at all. Other kids rarely like her and most of the time the feeling is mutual.) So, all she can do now is sit on the bleachers by herself while she doodles in one of her notebooks. It’s leather bound, made to look older than it actually is. Dad gave it to her for her last birthday. She gets one every year.

She does a pretty decent job of ignoring the world around her until she hears someone scream above the general noise of schools and sport events.

Sameen looks up with a frown and sees a bunch of junior high schoolers up in each other faces not far away on the tartan; two guys, both tall and burly for their age, and a younger blonde girl. The girl rubs the side of her face and her eyes are glistening and slightly red as if she’s holding back tears. Whatever happened must’ve caused her pain, Sameen guesses.

“Watch where you’re going, freak,” the taller guy spats while the other laughs.

The girl turns around and starts walking towards the bleachers but one of them grabs her by the arm and yanks her back forcefully.

“Hey, apologize to Cody!”

The girl looks back and forth between the guy still holding on to her and Cody. Then she drops her hand from her face and Sameen can see the bruise already developing; an angry red across cheek and temple, curling around her left eye. It will be a deep blue by tomorrow.

“I’m sorry,” the girl says to Cody. “That you’re such a loser.”

Sameen laughs quietly. She likes the girl and her guts. She rarely meets kids who stand up to others being cruel, especially older guys towering above them.

“You little shit.”

The guy pulls her forward again and holds back her leg with his foot causing her to trip and fall flat on the red tartan track. She tries to push herself up but one of her arms is kicked out from under her and she crashes back down. This time she stays still, sniffling once.

“Learn your place, freak,” Cody practically spits at her and turns to his buddy. “Come on.”

They leave her lying on the ground. Sameen looks around but none of the others, neither teenagers nor adults, seem to have witnessed what just happened. If they did they’re all to happy to ignore it. She shakes her head angrily as she puts her notebook into her bag, slings it across her shoulder and gets up. She carefully climbs down the bleachers and stops in front of the girl.

“Are you okay?”

Not until now does the girl look up again. The repeated fall to the floor caused her nose to bleed and red streaks have formed down her chin. Sameen pulls her bag to her front and rummages around until she finds the pack of tissues and holds one out.

The girl gets back to her feet slowly and Sameen has to crane her neck to be able to keep looking at her face. She’s a lot taller than her, not surprising as she’s a few years older.

“Thanks,” she mumbles and takes the tissues to wipe away the drying blood but fresh soon replaces the old.

“Someone should punch them in the face,” Sameen says, her face and tone a bit too calm for an eight-year-old.

The girl’s eyes narrow at those words. Then she snorts, causing more blood to leave her nose and Sameen hands her a second tissue.

“You’re weird,” she says with a smile, but something glints in her eyes, harsh and angry, but enticing. “A good weird.”

Sameen merely shrugs. She just opens her mouth to say something else when she hears someone call out and the glint in the girl’s eyes is gone.

“Sam!”

She scowls towards the voice as the other girl turns around, too. Nobody here knows her, especially not the fourteen-year-old brunette that comes running over to them.

“Sam, are you alright? What happened?”

But to Sameen’s surprise the question is not directed towards her at all. Instead the blonde answers. The one who’s apparently called Sam, too.

“I tripped, but I’m okay.”

“Come on, let’s go to the nurse.”

“Hanna, it’s alright.”

Hanna is already pulling Sam away despite her protests and soon they vanish within the crowd of other students.

Sameen looks after them for a couple of seconds before she returns to her seat on the bleachers, pulls out her notebook, and starts a new sketch.

“Who’s that?” Dad asks a couple of days later.

Sameen looks up from her homework to see him walking around her room, a leather book in his hand. Her notebook. The one she draws in. He turns it so that she can see its newest addition.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly and then scowls up at him. “Don’t take my stuff.”

“You don’t know?” He ignores the other comment and the scowl. “You never draw people you don’t know.”

It’s true. Sameen rarely draws people at all, mostly animals. Her notebook is filled with dogs and other four-legged, furry creatures. Sometimes places, too. Maman and dad are on a couple of pages as well but that’s it.

“She was at the sports event.”

“You made a friend?” There’s genuine joy in his voice.

“She called me weird.”

“Oh,” his smile immediately drops at the words. “Well, it’s a nice drawing. But why is this all blotchy?” He points to the scribbles beneath the nose and across the chin.

“It’s blood.”

Dad’s eyes go wide in panic as he looks closer at the picture. “Sameen, why did you draw blood on the girl’s face?”

“It was there when I saw her,” Sameen shrugs. “Someone pushed and kicked her.”

“Pushed and kicked,” dad trails off and shakes his head. “Do you know who did that?”

“No.”

She’s not sure what urges her to lie. Maybe it’s the flicker of anger she saw in Sam’s eyes. The way she smiled at Sameen’s idea of violence as retaliation. It seemed familiar enough to her. She’s sure Sam will stand up for herself and prefer it that way.

She hasn’t seen either of them again for a month until she has taken to going to the library with maman after school. Maman has started working there twice a week to keep herself occupied while dad is at the base. Sameen always goes with her and does her homework there. When she’s done, she reads books. It’s better than sitting at home doing nothing.

Sam and Hanna are at the library almost every time she is. They usually sit in the area where a couple of computers are set up. Sometimes they’re alone, other times more kids their ages are with them. But never does Sameen only see one of them. The day of the sports festival was the only time and she wonders where Hanna was when Sam was beat up by Cody and his buddy.

They always joke around or play on the computer or do homework together. Sometimes Sam stares at Hanna while the older girl is occupied otherwise and would quickly look away as soon as Hanna’s attention returns.

When neither of them is there Sameen goes to the computer to open one of the games. She has never really played videogames before but tries them anyway, curious to know what the other two find so interesting about them. But it seems it’s Hanna who truly plays them. Of the two she’s the only one to appear in any of the high scores. And there is a completely different name is listed as first place in all of them. One she’s never heard before.

The next time they’re sitting at the computers Sameen walks up to them, her arms wrapped around a battered schoolbook. She stands still until Sam notices her and smiles.

“Who’s Root?” Sameen foregoes any greetings and introductions.

Sam’s smile falters and her eyes narrow slightly.

“Who?” Hanna asks in confusion.

“They won all the games,” Sameen clarifies with a nod towards the computer.

They both shrug and claim they don’t know any Root and Sameen leaves with her curiosity unsatisfied but unable to do anything about it. It’s the last time she sees either of them before Hanna disappears and Sam begins to avoid the library.

Three months later they move back home just like dad promised and Sameen forgets everything and inwardly burns every reminder about Bishop, Texas.

**2004**

Sameen is a brilliant student. That’s the sentence that she’s read and heard most often from teachers and professors alike. It was usually followed by a _but_ and a statement that would go on and on about her social behavior. She couldn’t care less.

It’s not just an idiom but the truth. She’s physically unable to care about it more than she already does. Which is not at all.

It was ten years ago that she realized why the other kids were weird to her and it was during one of her first classes in med-school that she finally understood how she was different. Not just a description of emotions and behavior by herself and others but an actual diagnose.

Axis II Personality Disorder.

She read those words and their meaning and what she found out wasn’t all that shocking to her: She couldn’t care less. She is incapable of empathy and deep emotions. Boohoo. It doesn’t change the fact that she’s brilliant and currently acing her studies just like she did the last decade.

She’s top of her class and sure she’ll finish school next year. Then she’ll move on to her residency and become a real doctor. At least if the woman to her right stops bouncing her leg like a squirrel on speed. Otherwise she might kill her and end up as a prisoner instead.

“Stop that,” she grumbles at her.

“What?”

“Your leg. It’s annoying.”

“Oh,” the woman grins sheepishly at her before looking down. “Sorry. Nervous habit.”

Sameen shakes her head. She’s not really sure what’s to be nervous about. It’s just a class with a professor telling them of the importance of the correct suture techniques during surgery. It’s not something they haven’t heard before.

“Can you believe we’re going to be making rounds in a real hospital next month? It’s so exciting,” the woman is practically bouncing once more.

Someone tries to shush her from behind, but she goes on. Sameen sighs and closes her eyes as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Just shut up, will you,” Sameen snarls.

She turns to face her and takes in the woman with her brown hair and doe-like hazel eyes behind black rimmed glasses. She wears a brilliant smile. It seems dangerous somehow.

Sameen has never seen her before in any of her classes. Weird. She doesn’t really spend time with the other students, but she prides herself in remembering all their faces at least. She’s pretty sure that the woman is older than Sameen, too. Not a great feat considering she graduated high school early. But the woman is definitely older than the rest as well. Maybe she did a year abroad, traveled across Europe or some other weird stuff people do to find themselves.

“Who the fuck are you?”

She doesn’t seem put off by the brusque question.

“Ada Bryon. Nice to meet you,” she trails off.

There’s an awkward pause in which Ada obviously waits for Sameen to introduce herself but she merely rolls her eyes at the woman.

“I’ve never seen you here before, _Ada_.”

“Oh, I just transferred from Seattle,” her smile doesn’t falter. “Had a bad run in with one of the professors.”

“So, you moved to _Pennsylvania_?”

The moment the question leaves her mouth Sameen asks herself why she even indulges in the conversation. She blinks rapidly, confused by her own behavior.

“A change of scenery was in order,” Ada shrugs. Her eyes track Sameen’s face and body rather unabashed. “I like it so far.”

Sameen scoffs at the bluntness of the other woman. She’s hot, she gives her that. But all she wants right now is to pass this class. She turns back towards the front and continues listening to the pros and cons of different sutures.

“I could probably use a study partner.”

Sameen sighs. It would’ve been too good to be true if Ada just kept quiet. She turns back to the other woman and glares at her.

“Not interested.”

“That’s too bad.”

Next Friday Sameen finds herself at some party on campus. She may not exactly be a people person, but she does enjoy free booze and food. There’s also the improved chance to find someone to fuck. Horny drunks are less prone to delve into emotions and they’re easier to step out on once the deed is done. She learned early on that a night or three was all she was ready to give before her sex partners would become all clingy.

Hence this is where she’s at, leaning against a white wall, a whisky-coke in her hand, tapping her foot to the beat of the music while some jock chats her up. She’s just about to skip to the point and bluntly suggest they head to his place when she spots brown curls and black glasses at the other side of the room.

Ada turns slightly and her eyes immediately find Sameen as if she’s known she’s standing here all the time. The brunette smiles at her and begins walking over.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispers.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Just when she decides to ignore Ada’s presence all together the woman stops next to the jock completely unaware of what she’s interrupting. Or, Sameen guesses, she knows exactly that she’s disturbing them and enjoying every second of it.

“Hey, I didn’t expect to meet you here.”

“Why the hell not?” Sameen asks, already annoyed with the conversation.

“You don’t seem like the people-y type,” Ada shrugs.

Sameen scowls at her. She doesn’t like how the woman managed to read her correctly after one conversation. Then again, she does give of a rather human-hating vibe. And that on purpose on most days.

“Free drinks,” she finally argues and takes a pointed sip of her beverage.

“Uh, Sam?”

The jock looks back and forth between the two women. Sameen notices a flicker in Ada’s eyes at the mention of her name, but it’s gone before she can decipher it.

“Right. Ada this is,” she hesitates. Shit, she didn’t listen all too well after all.

The jock scowls down at her. “Ben,” he mutters.

“Ben. Ben, this is Ada.”

“Pleasure,” Ada says in a tone that suggests it’s anything but.

She doesn’t even spare him a glance. Her eyes never move from Sameen.

“Whatever,” Ben grunts and leaves.

“Great, thanks,” Sameen sighs as she watches him talk up another student from her class.

“Oh, come one. You cannot tell me you wanted to bed that caveman.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Yes,” Ada turns around to look him up and down and sneers. “I have.” Okay. Ada is not into the hot and muscular jock type. “And I think you could do a lot better than him. Someone with more than two brain cells for starters.”

“I wanted him to fuck me,” Sameen rolls her eyes. “Not quiz me.”

“But why not find someone who could do both? It adds a certain dynamic, don’t you think? Reward for the correct answer, punishment for the wrong.”

“You offering?” Sameen jokes.

By the way Ada leers at her, she realizes she should not have said that.

“What if I was,” Ada steps dangerously close into Sameen’s personal space. Her voice is barely above a sultry whisper. “ _Sam_. Is it short for something?”

“Sameen,” she answers without meaning to.

She blames the alcohol, she must’ve had more than she thought and it’s having an undesired effect on her, creating hot flushes all over her body.

She shakes her head and tries to get her scrambled thoughts back together. She has to stop this, whatever it is. Something is very wrong about that woman, Sameen knows. But with the way she’s looking at her, all sexy smirk and dilated pupils, she didn’t even notice that she moved her body against Sameen and has one hand around her neck, already pulling her closer.

“Sameen,” she whispers. “I like it.”

Sameen gulps at the way her name is being spoken into her ear. Then their lips meet and it’s soft for about a second before she grabs the collar of Ada’s leather jacket and kisses her back. She bites into her lower lip and the resulting hiss turned moan creates heat deep in her body. She’s heavily breathing by the time they pull apart. But just as she moves back in the sound of a phone interrupts them.

“One moment,” Ada whispers. “Don’t go anywhere.”

She moves away from Sameen and looks down at the offending device with a scowl. She types a reply, presses _send_ and puts it back into her pocket. But instead of returning to their former activity she takes another step back.

“I have to go,” she sounds genuinely disappointed. “I hope we get to continue where we left off some time.” With that, Ada is gone.

She doesn’t see her at their next class or the one after that or ever again during her time in med-school. On Monday Sameen hears that Ben and the student he talked to at the party were killed in a robbery gone wrong that very night. Without wasting another thought on either of those events she returns to her studies. She couldn’t care less.

**2005**

People shout and cry and run around, moans of pain are audible, and blood is an all too frequent sight. In short, all hell broke loose.

Sameen stands right in the middle of the chaos as she carefully unwraps the snickers bar she retrieved from the vending machine. She bites into the chocolate with a moan. It’s the first thing she’s eaten since her shift started six hours ago and damn everyone around her throwing a fit of panic. She’s going to enjoy every single bite of it.

Just as she shoves the last bit into her mouth and chews it someone calls out to her. With a sigh Sameen rumples the tinfoil, throws it into the garbage, and turns towards the voice.

It’s a nurse and he, together with one of the interns and a pair of paramedics, pushes a stretcher towards her. It’s occupied by a woman, but Sameen can’t make much more out of it. There’s blood everywhere and several hands desperately try to keep it inside the body.

“Hit me,” Sameen swallows the rest of the snack and immediately shifts into doctor mode.

“Caucasian, female, twenty-six. Two gunshot wounds; shoulder and thorax. She’s been in and out of consciousness since paramedics arrived at the scene.”

The paramedic next to her head moves and Sameen properly sees her for the first time. Brunette wavy hair caked in dirt and blood. Long, pointed nose. Scratches across the side of her face. Hazel eyes that stare up at her without focus.

“Doctor?”

She shakes herself out of her own thoughts when all four of them, five if you include the semiconscious patient, stare at her with worried and questioning eyes.

“Get her into OR-2,” she orders and moves after them.

It has been touch-and-go for a few seconds. The shoulder was easy enough, a clean through-and-through without hitting any major arteries. The bullet in her thorax has proven more complicated, however. It shattered one rib and was lodged dangerously close to her right lung. It’s a miracle nothing has been punctured by it or the bone’s splinters.

Several hours later Sameen stands in front of the medical bed with her arms crossed and gaze fixed on the clipboard with a frown.

_Lena Page._

Sameen never forgets a face but that is not the name she remembers. It’s written on the paper. And on her driver’s license.

She wonders if she’s gotten it wrong after all. Yes, Sameen has a good memory. If not photographic even. And she’d swear the woman lying in front of her unconscious from several drugs flooding her system is Ada Bryon. The same Ada that sat next to her during a single lecture in med-school, kissed her at a party, and then left.

Maybe she has a twin? Or a doppelgänger? If she does they have one hell of a resemblance. But if this is Ada she’s got some explaining to do.

“Am I in heaven?”

Sameen’s eyes snap up to the woman groggily staring at her. Her lips form a small smile just on the verge of a smirk and Sameen’s scowl deepens.

“I didn’t want to die yet. But if you’re an angel I won’t complain.”

Sameen takes a deep breath as she rolls her eyes almost out of their sockets. God, this woman has spoken two sentences and is already insufferable. She might really be Ada.

“You’re at the hospital,” Sameen explains. “Got yourself shot twice and went through surgery. We removed a bullet from your thorax. It was close.”

“I’m alive?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re real?”

“A fact I’m beginning to resent.”

The woman’s grin only widens. She tries to sit up but unceremoniously drops onto her back immediately as her arms give out under her. She hisses in pain and clutches her right shoulder.

“Did I mention the other bullet tore through your shoulder muscles? It will take a few days until you can use it properly again.”

It’s not exactly great bed-side manner from a doctor to be laughing at someone in obvious pain but Sameen can’t help but smirk gleefully down at her patient. After the short conversation she she’ll take any victory, no matter how small.

“Can you answer a few questions for me?” Sameen asks and she moves up the bed towards her head.

“Yes, sure.”

“What year is it?”

Sameen grabs a small flashlight and checks her pupils. Normal response.

“2005.”

“What’s your name?”

There’s a blink, a brief hesitation, and Sameen cranes a brow at the woman. Eventually she answers with the name written on the clipboard.

It doesn’t seem like someone who forgot their name but rather an actor who’s trying to remember a line during a play. Sameen doesn’t say anything though. She simply moves on to check the several bandages.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” this time, the answer is immediate.

“What did you have for breakfast?”

“I don’t do breakfast.”

“That’s unhealthy, you know?” Sameen adds without thinking and checks a box on the chart. “The last thing you ate then?”

She rolls her eyes at the smirk she receives, practically hearing the dirty thoughts running through Lena’s mind. Her answer is surprisingly benign though.

“An apple.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

There’s the same hesitation again. Eyes narrowed and nose scrunched in thought. After a few seconds Lena shakes her head.

“Alright. Not remembering events that caused the physical trauma isn’t unusual,” Sameen explains though she’s sure this is not actually the case here. “But the police would still like a word.”

At that Lena’s eyes widen fractionally. Sameen calls the involuntary reaction another win in her books.

“The police? But why?”

“I’m sure you know that we’re obliged to report gunshot victims to the authorities. Two officers arrived half an hour ago. They’re waiting outside.”

“No, you can’t,” Lena says. Her voice quivers slightly. “You don’t understand. The one who shot me, he,” she trails off, but Sameen can guess where this is going.

“Oh, I think I do understand,” she rolls her eyes deciding to gamble and call bullshit on the sob-story she’s about to receive. “ _Ada_.”

She watches the other woman go through a set of facial expressions. First confusion, then panic, and lastly recognition. She emits an almost sinister chuckle and drops her head back down on the pillow. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Of all the doctors,” she whispers.

“It’s your lucky day,” Sameen deadpans. “So, who did you kill this time?”

“What makes you think I killed anybody, _Sameen_?”

She stresses her name and there’s no sign of panic about being caught. The former act is completely dropped and replaced by mild curiosity.

“Ben and that other student,” Sameen explains.

“Oh, them”, Lena, Ada, or whatever her real name is, chuckles dryly. “I forgot about them.”

“I didn’t.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Sameen didn’t care back then that she had her suspicions what happened to the two and Ada’s involvement. And to be honest she still doesn’t. She knew neither of them really well. She went to class with one and tried to get into bed with the other. But despite her unsympathetic attitude she has a rather well working moral compass. And murder is pretty much illegal last she checked.

She hasn’t given the police any post-surgical statement yet. Said, she wanted to wait until after the patient woke up. She could easily tell them everything now. Maybe they’d believe her, maybe they won’t. Sameen would’ve done her civic duty either way.

But there’s some tiny part of her that doesn’t want to. That thinks this woman, whoever she really is beneath a couple of forged identities, innuendos, and murderous intend, might be an interesting addition to her life. A life that has proven to be rather mundane outside of her days spent in the ER.

“I really haven’t killed anyone,” _this time_ hovers between them unsaid. “But I wasn’t lying either. The guy who shot me really is a cop.”

“Why’d he do it?”

“He’s a dirty bastard who wanted to cut loose ends,” she rolls her eyes. “Hired me and refused to pay.”

“Hired you for what exactly?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Sameen merely glares in answer and receives a resigned sigh a couple of seconds later.

“There was some paper trail he wanted gone. That’s all. No murder,” she signs a cross above her heart and holds up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Sameen closes her eyes with a deep breath. She can’t believe she’s even considering this but something about that woman calls out to her, tugs at her, asks her to give in, just this once.

“Fine,” Sameen finally says and watches relief wash over Ada’s face. “I’ll help you. Under one condition. Tell me; who are you really?”

“That is one loaded question, Sameen,” she smiles up at her, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “But for starters… You can call me Root.”

The name sits unwell in the pit of her stomach for days afterwards. Root. She’s heard it before, she’s sure. She’s not that ignorant about technology that she doesn’t see the connection to the Unix based operating systems, especially after she’s done a quick search of both Ada Bryon and Lena Page and found out both names references to famous programmers. And she doesn’t doubt Root is a mere alias either. After all, which parent would call their daughter Root?

But it’s something else. She’s heard it before in a different context. She just can’t remember when or where.

**2010**

Life has changed drastically for her.

She was kicked out of the residency program for not having enough feelings (Ridiculous if you asked her, what nobody did, but whatever.) She joined the marines, went overseas, killed, and saved more people than she could count, and was approached by some spooky government agent offering her a job.

She accepted it, called maman, heard her say _I love you_ for one last time, and was officially killed. She watched her own funeral from afar, saw the empty coffin being lowered into the dirt, heard maman cry.

She didn’t feel a thing at the display of emotional agony and it only made her angry. Then she turned around, left her old life behind and became Agent Shaw, the newest member of the top-secret ISA branch _Catalyst_.

Months of training followed. During that time, she was mentored by Hersh, a gruff man with unruly hair, lack of humor, and deadly aim. She learned to like him. She traveled all over the world to hunt down so-called numbers and eliminated them.

After half a year she was deemed ready for her own team and they partnered her up with Michael Cole. He’s an IT-nerd who doesn’t get in the way of her work, doesn’t pretend to be some hot-shot to impress her. He’s nice enough, not put off by her brusqueness, tells decent jokes, and always has food and whisky ready for when she’s done shooting up a place.

They make a good team.

When she climbs into the van after their newest mission she happily accepts the sandwich and warm coffee. It’s the middle of the night in New York City during winter. She stopped feeling her fingers about ten minutes ago and sighs with content when the numbness finally recedes. After gulping down half of the coffee and ignoring the burn in her throat she takes a huge bite out of the sandwich and moans.

“You’re fucking perfect, Cole,” she mumbles barely audible around bits of bread, meat, and vegetables between her teeth.

“I aim to please.”

He wordlessly hands her a tissue when some of the mustard drips down her cheek. Another point in his favor; he never so much as glances at her eating habits.

“What’s next?”

“Apparently one of them stayed behind,” Cole says as he starts the engine.

Shaw grabs the file from the dashboard and opens it. A middle-aged Asian woman stares back at her. Slim face and hair cut short.

“Zhao Lei,” she reads. “Well then, let’s finish this one up. I haven’t slept in two days.”

Cole navigates them through Manhattan’s street. It’s surprisingly empty, even for this time of night, so they arrive at the address of the hotel in just under five minutes. Shaw grabs two new magazines from inside the back of the van and turns her comm on.

“Which room am I headed to?” She asks as she steps inside the elevator.

She keeps her head low and face away from any cameras. Sadly, being protected by some secret government operation doesn’t grant her invisibility to local security.

“Three-oh-seven.”

She presses the button for the third floor and pulls her coat closer as to not accidentally reveal the gun holstered at her hip.

Four seconds later she steps out into an empty and dimly lit hallway. She walks down the red rug until she’s in front of the correct door.

Just as she’s trying to figure out how best to break into the room without the key card she hears a ruckus from inside; a grunt and something crashing to the floor. She pushes against the door, finds it unlocked, pulls out her gun and enters.

A woman lies on the floor, unconscious. Asian, slim face, short hair. Zhao Lei. Next to her head is a broken vase with its shards scattered all over the place. And standing above her…

“Root,” Shaw frowns.

The other woman looks up from Zhao and grins the second she recognizes Shaw. She completely ignores the gun currently aimed at her and gives her a wave with the hand holding onto a taser as if she weren’t just caught committing a felony.

“Hey, Sameen.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Shaw?”, Cole buzzes in her ear. “Shaw, what’s going on?”

“I’ll call you back,” Shaw says and deactivates her comm.

Neither her eyes nor her gun ever leaves Root’s face. She hasn’t stopped smiling at her but moved around the room to sit down on the table. She produced an apple from god knows where and is happily munching it while kicking her legs back and forth like a child.

“I could ask you the same,” Root says. “Last I checked you’re a doctor in Pennsylvania. There’s even a rumor that you joined the marines and died. I was very distraught when I heard that.”

Shaw continues to glare at her, but she lowers the gun slightly away from Root’s face.

“I got better. Why are you here?”

The last time she’s seen Root was when she helped her evade the police as Lena Page years ago. Clearly the other woman hasn’t changed much. She’s still is a professional criminal prone to violence.

“Zhao tried to buy a laptop I was interested in. She was unsuccessful,” Root explains with a pout. “I guess that’s your doing as well?”

“You’re not going to get it,” Shaw snarls, raising the gun again.

“Do you even know what it is?”

“No and I don’t care.”

“A shame,” Root sighs. “But just as well.”

She jumps off the table and struts over to Shaw. She still ignores the weapon, even as she reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Shaw’s ear and has the barrel pressed into her rips.

“See you later, sweetie.”

Root leaves the room and Shaw lets her, doesn’t even turn around to watch her go. She’s far too irritated by the behavior, her own and that of the other woman, to do anything but stand in the room and stare at Zhao on the floor.

She sighs eventually and goes to check her number’s pulse. She’s still alive. Shaw holsters her gun, walks over to the bedside to unplug the lamp, and strangles the woman with its power cord. Then she returns to the van parked outside the hotel.

“What was that, Shaw?” Cole all but shouts the second the door closes. “Who was in there with you?”

“No one,” she mutters as she discards the unused spare magazines.

“Someone recognized you in there. Who was it?”

“Just a ghost from the past, Cole.”

“We have no ghosts from the past,” he argues.

She huffs. Like he’s one to talk. Out of the two of them he’s the one with ties to his life before the ISA. He visits his parents regularly and heads to an NBA game once a month with his best friend from High School.

“She’s not for you to worry about,” she practically growls at him.

He huffs but eventually lets it go and drives them back to the New York office. Meanwhile she wonders if it was a good idea to let Root go. She’s clearly anything but harmless and somehow involved in whatever terrorist event they just prevented. But Shaw’s sure Research would’ve given them her number long ago if she was a threat to national security.

Right?

Right.

**2013**

For the last four years, probably even longer, Shaw had exactly one friend. And now he’s dead.

Cole died in front of her, saving her life, like the fucking hero he always wanted to be. Her hero, he confessed with his last breath. There’s not much she can do about it now, but she will find the people responsible and kill them. Which is why she’s currently at this hotel knocking on the door to the room that houses his CIA contact: Veronica Sinclair.

But when the door is finally opened all she does is stare in shock at the familiar face.

“Hey, sweetie.”

She doesn’t even notice the taser jammed into her neck until she’s lying on the floor convulsing with aftershocks. Root drags her across the carpet, pulls her up into the chair, and ties her arms to it.

“I’d like to think we’re friends, so I really don’t want to hurt you. All I need is a name.”

She walks away and returns a few seconds later with a hot iron in her hand. She places it on the floor to her feet and sits down on the table to Shaw’s left who is still shaking, not able to move more than her eyes.

“After Zhao I couldn’t help but read your files and follow your career. I have to say, I am a bit of a fan,” her smile is pure saccharine and weirdly honest. “But do you even know what you’ve gotten yourself caught up into? Who you’re really working for?”

“Cut this shit, Root,” Shaw manages to grit out.

“Did you honestly think the source of your numbers was Guantanamo?”

Shaw narrows her eyes at Root.

“You of all people should know that torture never leads to the information you seek. Well,” she moves from the table to kneel down in front of Shaw and slowly opens the zipper of her hoodie. “Almost never. And sadly, we’re on a bit of a clock. Your partner Cole was branded traitor and killed by your employers. He asked too many questions about Aquino who was hired to build a home for something very special. Something I want to find. So, you’re gonna tell me the name of his contact.”

She grabs the hot iron again and holds it close to Shaw’s neck. The heat breathes against her skin and causes her to sweat almost immediately. A weird feeling settles inside her. A mixture of fury and anticipation. An unbidden memory flashes across her eyes of Root’s lips moving against hers, teeth biting into the soft flesh, and an unfulfilled promise.

“There’s something you don’t know about me, Root,” Shaw whispers. “Something they left out of my file. I kind of enjoy this sort of thing.”

“I am so glad you said that,” Root chuckles, an excited glint in her hazel eyes. “I do, too.”

Just as she mentally prepares herself for a world of pain a phone rings and interrupts them. Once again Root leaves her with a promise to revisit their meeting soon. Shaw’s not sure if she’s looking forward to it or not.

A few weeks later she is at Finch’s secret library, thanking him for honoring Cole with a fabricated cover story. There she sees the pictures on the wall. Apparently, Root has been on their radar for quite some time after she shot a woman in front of Finch and abducted him. Without accepting no for an answer Shaw borrows all they have on her. It isn’t much, just a list of known aliases, to which Shaw adds Ada Bryon and Lena Page with a pen, and a detailed file on the false identity of Caroline Turing.

There is only one thing that catches her eye: a newspaper article from 1991 about the disappearance of Hanna Frey and a picture of two young girls. Shaw vaguely remembers them from when she lived in Bishop that year. She thinks of a bloodied nose and bruised eye. The other Sam was friends with Hanna who was always at the library playing dumb computer games. Games which all had the same person as number one listed in their high scores.

Shaw checks the list of aliases again and reads the names out loud.

“Samantha Groves,” she chuckles in disbelief. “Sam. You’ve been Root all along.”

**Author's Note:**

> ask me anything on [tumblr](https://nd-mindoir.tumblr.com/)


End file.
